


Mixed

by Lilia



Series: Mating Bite [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha Jackson, Alpha Peter Hale, Alpha Scott McCall, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Derek Has Two Mommies, Derek fantasizes plenty, Derek has a vivid imagination, M/M, No Sex, Omega Isaac, Omega Lydia, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Omega Verse, the world isn't ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-10 05:08:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4378409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilia/pseuds/Lilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek Hale knew what was due to an omega—of course he did. He was a Hale and the Hale pack revered their omegas.  So why was he about to throttle this skinny, rude, infuriating omega—who was seriously fucking annoying by the way--who just so happened to be his mate?</p><p>Basically the Alpha-omega Mixer as seen through the eyes of Derek Hale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are deeply appreciated. Would also love to say hi on [Tumblr](http://liliaford.tumblr.com/).  
> I officially give permission to list this on Goodreads or anywhere else. For my thoughts on that controversy, here's my [blog post](http://liliaford.tumblr.com/post/116595379216/love-lost/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is taking place at the same time as chapter 3 of Mating Bite.

Derek was going to murder Scott McCall.

With extreme prejudice.

And pain.

It was not possible for a human to appear more ridiculous than he did. Derek Hale, age 24, un-fucking-mated, was at this moment cruising high school omegas.

Peter had mocked him mercilessly on the drive over, until he was seriously thinking of challenging his uncle—right after he gave McCall a proper Hale beat-down.

Derek knew that the past week had not been his best. In fact, he’d reached new lows of humiliation. First there was his bizarre freak-out on the training field. Every senior Alpha in the Hale pack was now aware that he’d wolfed out after catching some random scent, like a fourteen-year-old jerking off with a bottle of black-market omega heat pheromones.

And then, in a fit of lunacy, he’d let McCall talk him into attending this idiotic mixer instead of calling at the omega’s home as would be proper. He could just imagine what Talia would have to say about showing this kind of disrespect to his future mate, or any omega.

And the final straw: McCall had been adamant that he not wear a coat and tie to this thing. So in addition to being the oldest person here by what felt like a decade, he was also conspicuously underdressed—like he’d made no effort whatsoever. This was what he got for taking relationship advice from Scott fucking McCall, who was all of what, eighteen? Not to mention that McCall had been raised by a beta. As if a beta would have a clue about how a good Alpha should behave towards omegas.

The problem was that McCall was the omega’s legal sponsoring Alpha. He could refuse Derek’s suit outright if he wanted. So instead of having Laura approach the family with his offer, Derek was here at this stupid Alpha-omega mixer like they were all a bunch of betas picking each other up in some cheap bar! The whole point of the courtship was so everyone—both families, the Alpha, and most of all the omega—knew the suit was serious, that the Alpha was worthy and understood the value of the one he would take as his mate.

Derek knew that Scott was a good Alpha, but he still found it bizarre that this teenager, who’d not grown up with a single Alpha for a role model, would by sheer chance end up as guardian and sponsor to an unmated omega. Scott called the omega his “pack brother” like that was an actual thing instead of some phrase they’d made up to account for Scott’s close connection to an omega his age. McCall spent hours and hours with the omega—they had “sleepovers” for Moon’s sake in which they shared a bedroom! Derek knew that there was nothing between them—he knew it. But he couldn’t help marveling at how McCall did it. Why wasn’t he driven mad by the scent?

That fucking scent. Derek needed to suppress the memory of it before there was a repeat of last week. Enough! He could almost feel himself glaring. He forced his features to relax before he terrified some poor omega.

Seriously, who had come up with the idea for this mixer? No doubt some beta fucktard.

Entering the main room of the rec center where the “mixer” was… _mixing_ , he noticed his fellow Alphas standing around like idiots, too cowardly to approach the omegas, who were mostly clinging to each other in the omega-safe section. Derek was aware that the sections were controversial, but he couldn’t help approving of them. There was just something so soothing in the idea of them: omegas should always be safe—protected from Alphas who might try to bother them. Besides, they looked so cute cuddling together on the floor, all sporting that blissed out, loopy expression that seemed to define the classification.

He half wondered if this would be the extent of the mixing: Alphas watching unmated omegas loll about in a pheromone coma. But a minute later, Derek spotted Angie Papadakis, Talia’s old friend and a teacher at the omega school, nudging her charges to leave their section. He couldn’t decide whether he was impressed or horrified that it only took the omegas about four minutes of standing around before they started approaching Alphas to introduce themselves. He admired their courage, but he couldn’t help a surge of his old frustration at how naïve and trusting omegas were with his kind.

Ugh, why was it so hot in this room? Was the air-conditioning busted?

He was not panicking. Absolutely not. But still, this was a bad idea—the worst. He would find Peter. His uncle was currently nursing scotch in the Alpha lounge in back, wishing he could get drunk, no doubt laughing his ass off that Derek was stooping to compete with a bunch of _Teen Alpha_ wannabes. Before he could go, however, Derek was accosted by two recruits from his weekend training group. They were obviously afraid to approach a real-live omega, so they decided that bothering their officer was the less intimidating prospect. This was what he’d been reduced to.

Derek reminded himself that the reason he and Peter were there at all was to guarantee that the young Alphas behaved themselves. For most of them, this was their first close contact with unmated omegas. Derek breathed a little sigh: maybe it was good that these two boneheads had come up to talk to him. He adopted a suitably threatening scowl. Now he looked more like a chaperone, there to keep a watchful eye on the Alphas, ready to make them regret being born if they moved a toe out of line or did anything an omega might find upsetting.

And in fairness, he’d had worse conversations in his life. Both boys were on the Beacon Hills Alpha Lacrosse team, so the three of them talked about the season and their insane beta coach, Finstock, and his pre-game speeches culled from cheesy nineties action films. Derek was actually beginning to relax a little, when the Moon decided to make him her bitch--again.

That fucking scent! It was sweet and bright, like citrus and sunshine, but with that underlying note of ripe peaches….

Except it wasn’t just a trace on McCall’s clothes. The omega was somewhere in this room! Now that he’d caught it, Derek had no trouble isolating the scent even amid the fifty competing ones. The scent got closer and Derek had to fight to keep from wolfing out. One of the jackasses talking to him had caught it too and was staring bug-eyed. What was it with this fucking omega?

“Get lost,” Derek growled at them. They took off just in time for McCall to come up to them. Thankfully for his dignity, Derek’s attention was briefly distracted by the unmistakable scent of a mated omega. He realized a half-second before Scott made the introduction that this must be Jackson Whittemore’s mate, the notorious Isaac Lahey.

Who would ever forget that bizarre affair? The forced mating of an eleven year old omega, an orphan from a foster home, by the son of one of the wealthiest packs in California. He still had no idea why Talia hadn’t undone it, but it wouldn’t have surprised him if the Whittemores had bullied the poor kid into accepting the claim, guaranteeing their douchebag of a son a helpless mate without any family to make demands for him.

Just the thought of it filled him with disgust and he made an extra effort to show the utmost respect—anything else might leave the impression he thought Whittemore’s reprehensible actions implied the omega was somehow unworthy of full Alpha courtesy. Derek noticed that Isaac appeared more embarrassed than pleased and wondered if some piece of shit Alpha had shown him some disrespect? If so they’d better hope Derek didn’t find out about it.

But his duty done to Jackson’s mate, Derek was finally able to turn to the omega in person. “And this is my pack-brother, Stiles Stilinski, that I told you about.”

Derek felt like the ground was falling out from under him—and not in a good way. This, this… skinny, twitchy boy …was his omega? He was nothing like the picture Derek had in his head of his future mate: a demure, sweet-tempered omega who would keep his den and bear his cubs. Instead the kid was leaking hostility and even worse, he absolutely reeked of Scott fucking McCall. It was all Derek could do not the grab the kid by the scruff and slam him against the wall so he could rub the other Alpha’s scent off of him.

What the fuck was McCall thinking leaving his scent all over Derek’s….

Derek pulled back, reminding himself that legally Stiles was McCall’s. He was acting like a lunatic and it would STOP NOW.

He managed to dredge up the polite greeting he’d practiced to himself earlier in the day. “The sheriff’s son,” (which was a helpful reminder since John Stilinksi no doubt carried a full array of wolfs-bane bullets, ready to use in defense of his son.) “I’ve heard a lot about you. Scott showed me the web site and message board you created for the ORT. I was hoping you might meet with my sister’s mate, Mark. He’s trying to put together something similar for mated omegas. I’d love to hear more about your group.”

Strict justice required Derek to concede that it had been McCall’s suggestion that he offer to arrange a meeting between the ORT and Mark. Derek had appreciated it as a sound idea, demonstrating his awareness of the omega’s accomplishments and introducing him to the Hale Pack’s omega at the same time. Now his main feeling was relief that he’d practiced something because otherwise he would probably have stood there stammering like those lacrosse asswipes.

The omega had precisely zero reaction to his little speech, which sucked balls since it hadn’t occurred to Derek to compose any follow up remarks. McCall chose that moment take his leave—and could he be more fucking obvious? And what was he doing leaving his omega unchaperoned with Derek, an unmated Alpha, who was obviously interested in him?

Derek fumbled to take control of the situation that already felt like it was hurtling towards disaster, when he realized Stiles’ scent had changed. For a moment his vision went red: Stiles was pouring out mating pheromones—Derek could taste them, almost like they were a fucking fog of opium smoke. Before he could stop himself, Derek’s eyes dropped to the boy’s waist, where yes, he was sporting a hard-on, easily visible through the thin fabric of his pajamas. Derek managed to stop his fangs from dropping but his mouth watered, and the word ‘knotwhore’ popped into his head without his consent. He sent up a prayer for Talia’s forgiveness that he’d even think such a thing of his mate…

Not his mate, for Moon’s sake! What the fuck was wrong with him?

But the damage was done. A little video started playing in his head which featured him slamming Stiles face-first against the nearest wall, ripping down his pants and shoving into that welcoming omega heat….

Derek was distracted from his personal porno by another set of scents. Looking up, he noticed the flushed faces and flashes of red eyes from the Alphas nearest their group, which snapped him out of his stupor. Thankfully a snarl was enough to warn off the Alphas thinking to make a move on his omega. Except then Stiles announced he was going for punch, leaving Derek’s immediate protection.

Derek was just able to stop himself from grabbing the omega by the shoulder to keep him in place. It was probably for the best that the presence of Jackson’s mate forced his brain back to sanity: how could he hope to be worthy of his own mate, if he failed in courtesy to a mated omega?

He turned his attention to Isaac, managing to conjure up a polite question about the ORT. He was charmed in spite of himself at how shy and unassuming the omega was as he rambled on about their group. Somehow if he’d tried to imagine the mate of a rich douchebag like Whittemore, he figured the omega would resemble the nightmare brats on those celebrity shows Cora watched, _Omega Mates of Beverly Hills_ or _Mating Kardashian Style_ —spoiled, vain, and empty-headed.  

But Isaac Lahey was the opposite, fitting Derek’s exact picture of the timid, supportive omega, giving credit to everyone else while saying nothing about himself, the true heart of any pack. How had an arrogant hot-head like Jackson managed to score such a sweetheart? Isaac was certainly nothing like Stiles, who oozed omega horniness and defiance.

Not that Stiles was his mate or anything.

Hearing Isaac’s self-deprecating account, which totally left out his own significant contributions to the ORT, Derek’s protective instincts kicked in. He gave his most encouraging smile. “You’ve said nothing about your own role, but you’re one of the founders too, right?” he prompted.

If anything poor Isaac seemed even more embarrassed to be given credit. There was no way Jackson deserved him, but of course the Alpha had simply seized him like these were the most lawless days of the Beta Wars. Asshole.

Thankfully, Isaac’s example and the brief respite from Stiles’ overpowering scent, enabled Derek to regain his sanity. Stiles was not the kind of omega he was looking for; he wanted someone sweet and retiring, someone he would court the old-fashioned way, in carefully chaperoned visits, whom he might after several meetings finally coax to hold his hand. Not the star of some omegaporn fantasy about throwing his mate down and forcing his knot….  

He shook off those crude thoughts—he was better than this. Smiling at Isaac’s cute joke about omegas fighting with pillows, he made a silly quip about his sisters, hoping to encourage the shy omega.

He took a deep breath, confident he had control of his wolf and his fucking libido, when Stiles was back, acting like he was drunk for Moon’s sake, his mouth stained red by cheap punch. Derek couldn’t take his eyes off those full, mobile lips, almost choking to see the omega’s tongue dart out to lick them, as if he were just begging to drop to his knees and take his Alpha’s….

His cock shot hard and his fangs dropped. Fuck!

Time to beat a retreat before he utterly humiliated himself and insulted the omegas. Derek mumbled out a few polite phrases about setting up a meeting with Mark, but found himself stymied when Stiles made no move to accept his card. He’d rather die than insult Isaac Lahey by presuming he’d accept something as personal as a card from another Alpha, but to pressure an unmated omega to take it was almost as reprehensible.

To Derek’s horror, Isaac seemed to feel some obligation and actually took the card from Derek’s hand! Here he was pretending to be a chaperone in charge of keeping the young Alphas in line, and instead he managed to intimidate an omega into violating all etiquette. He’d never felt so ashamed.

And then as if the Moon herself had decided his punishment, that was the moment that Jackson Whittemore showed up, just in time to catch Derek Hale unintentionally insulting his mate.

Fuck his life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter corresponds to Chapter 4 of Mating Bite.

Derek steeled himself for the challenge he was sure was coming. After all, that fuckhead, Whittemore, had only fought every Alpha in the Hale pack except him and Peter.

But that’s not what happened. Instead, Jackson seemed intent on publicly reasserting his claim on his mate. It was a tad on the aggressive side, but Derek couldn’t in fairness blame him. The Alpha had been separated from his mate for something like seven years. And then to arrive at this Mixer and see his omega surrounded by drooling, unmated Alphas would push cooler heads than Jackson Whittemore’s to the breaking point.

Not that Derek was seriously worried about the Alphas here tonight. Only the most eligible high school Alphas had been invited, those with perfect conduct records. They’d all had to put up the full amount of their mate-offering into a permanent escrow account, which was forfeit if they broke any of the Mixer rules. And anyway, no Alpha would dare misbehave with the Hale pack enforcer standing right there—not to mention its executioner a few dozen feet away in the Alpha lounge.

What Derek could not have predicted in a million Moons was Stiles, who at that moment was shouting at Jackson, “Dude, hands off. You may have forced your mark on him seven years ago, but that does not mean you can just waltz back into town and grab him like he’s a fucking piece of property.”

Derek caught Whittemore’s flinch at the implication that his mating was illegal. Poor fucker—Derek couldn’t even imagine what it would do to him to have people constantly challenging his mating like that. Given the circumstances, Whittemore’s reaction was laudably mild. “Actually the law says I can,” he answered coldly. “He’s my mate. I’m his Alpha.”

Derek could barely track what happened next: Stiles threw himself in front of the most explosive douche of an Alpha in the Hale pack and attempted to…. Derek wasn’t sure what Stiles was trying to do—fight an Alpha for his mate?

He supposed he should be relieved that typical of an omega, Stiles’ weapon of choice was a cup of punch, which he threw clumsily at Jackson, which would have been fine except that he hit Isaac instead.

“Fucking A,” Jackson roared, justifiably enraged to see his mate assaulted by another omega in front of a crowd of gaping Alphas.

If the Alpha in question had been anyone other than Jackson, Derek would have laughed at the ridiculousness of it. But even setting aside Whittemore’s temper, Derek had to concede Jackson was in an incredibly sensitive position for an Alpha. He’d illegally mated an omega when they were both kids, and then been exiled from his mate for seven years: what must that have done to him to know his omega was living in some foster home, while he could do nothing to protect him, care for him?  

Derek felt like he was seeing Jackson clearly for the first time and he suddenly understood—the ridiculously prickly temper, the overall asshole demeanor. Derek doubted he’d have been able to stay sane in the same position.

Stiles, on the other hand, defied all comprehension. He should have been terrified. Derek would almost have thought the omega had no idea who he was dealing with except that his next words were, “I don’t care if you are Peter Hale’s pet killer. I won’t let you terrorize Isaac.”

One would think Peter’s name alone would be reason enough for Stiles to bare his neck, but instead he literally grabbed at Jackson’s mate as if to separate them. Derek nearly puked. If Stiles had been an Alpha, he’d be lying dead on the floor with his throat torn out. No surprise Jackson wolfed out, but thank the Moon, his next words showed that he’d maintained control: “Tell me right now, omega, why I shouldn’t challenge McCall for this insult.”

That was right. This was McCall’s fault for leaving his omega free to get into this kind of trouble. He should be the one to answer.

But it was as if Stiles had some cosmic need to destroy Derek’s sanity. “In the first place, Scott is not my Alpha,” he shouted loud enough for every Alpha in the room to hear. “And in the second this isn’t the friggin’ dark ages, dude. I do not need some cave-Alpha to fight my battles for me.”

“It’s not for an omega to decide how Alphas resolve insults between themselves. You’re McCall’s pack-brother, and what’s more you reek of him,” Jackson reminded Stiles before Derek could.

Derek’s wolf was screaming at him that Stiles had just made an unequivocal public denial of McCall’s claim on him. It was pure instinct that made him growl out, “Stiles, take your hand off Isaac now,” the first time in his life he used the Alpha tone on an omega.

Stiles literally collapsed on the floor, before shouting “What the fuck” like Derek’s worst picture of an omega brat, which should have cooled his ardor, but to his endless annoyance only made him want to grab the omega by the throat… yeah, basically act like a cave-Alpha.

Thank the Moon, sanity prevailed. Stiles was not the only omega present. Derek’s heart went out to Isaac Lahey. The sweet omega had behaved irreproachably, and yet once again was ending up the subject of gossip and scandal.

Derek had really fucked up this chaperone business, but at least he could do some damage control now. “Jackson,” he barked, “This is too public. You are exposing your mate in front of a crowd of strange Alphas.” Jackson reacted just as Derek predicted, wincing and loosening his grip on his mate. Whatever Jackson’s flaws, Derek couldn’t deny the sincerity of his need to protect his mate. “We will continue this discussion in the back room.” To the Alphas at large he growled, “If you value my opinion you will keep gossip about this to a minimum.”

He noticed that some of the omegas were filming the whole scene with their cell phones. He managed to suppress a laugh but couldn’t help shaking his head. There really was something adorable in the way omegas got so excited about what they considered juicy gossip. But this at least was harmless. It wasn’t as if Isaac’s reputation could be damaged by gossip from other omegas.

Luckily Jackson saw the benefit of removing his mate from the room. The same couldn’t be said of Stiles, who was bristling with omega defiance and seemed intent on ignoring Derek’s order. Brat. Derek had had just about enough. Fuck etiquette. And fuck Scott McCall for putting him in this position. He grabbed Stiles from the floor and physically dragged him out of the room.

If Scott decided to challenge him over manhandling his omega, so be it. Right now Derek would like nothing better than to beat McCall to a pulp.

Speaking of: one they were in the hallway, Derek demanded, “Where is Scott McCall?”

And suddenly there was another omega in his face, a blond female. “He had to make a phone call. Someone named Allison.”

Even by the usual omega standard, she smelled extraordinarily good. Derek grasped at words like _poetic_ or _ethereal_ , which was just bizarre and totally out of character for him. Her face was just as lovely, but the rest….

Derek almost snarled at her clothes. How had her parents let her out of the house dressed like that? Since when did omegas wear leather jackets? Yuck. Even a defiant brat like Stiles at least dressed like an omega—were those Avengers pajamas? That really was cute; too bad his attitude….

Not relevant. This girl, on the other hand, looked like some sleazy Alpha gang-banger. And the clothes were only part of it, Derek realized. Everything about her appearance felt wrong—the challenging gaze, the posturing body language, exactly like the typical high school Alpha. But in an omega, it was just repul….

He caught himself before he went too far down that road, which would have seriously, legitimately infuriated both Talia and Maman. He could practically hear Maman snapping out, “Who do you think you are, Monsieur Big Alpha, to disapprove of how an omega chooses to dress?” He did feel ashamed, though he still couldn’t stop wishing the omega’s parents….

“And you are?” he snapped out, far more rudely than he’d ever spoken to an omega in his life.

“Erica Reyes,” she challenged, moving into his space.

He could feel his wolf rising, like it would in response to another Alpha, but mixed with that scent… “I take it you’re also in the ORT?” he said, struggling to control his repulsion.

“Yes, do you have a problem with that?” Stiles demanded.

Stiles’ words were finally enough to wake Derek up to what he was about. He’d just failed in courtesy to an omega—Stiles’ friend and a fellow member of the ORT. And all because he was being uptight about her clothes. Should he insult Sheriff Stilinski while he was at it? Then maybe he could crack a joke about Stiles’ late mother? Really, he should make a fucking list of all the ways he could fuck up a courtship in the first ten minutes. That way he wouldn’t skip anything.

The thought that he’d probably lost the omega sent his wolf into a frenzy, which was annoying and excessive but he couldn’t seem to get control of it. He needed to get out of this corridor: the humming lights and the vile food smells weren’t helping. He reached for the next door, remembering a moment too late that Peter was in there.  


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter corresponds to the second part of Chapter 4 of Mating Bite.

 

Derek didn’t even have a chance to steel himself before his uncle started up with the fucking ridicule. “Derek, is there a reason you’ve decided to host a playgroup for omegas?”

Next to him, Stiles went stiff with offense, and Derek fumbled for some way to smooth things over. “Ah, Peter, these are members of the ORT. Stiles Stilinski, Erica Reyes, and may I present Isaac Lahey, Jackson’s mate.”

“Isaac Lahey, all grown up. Causing trouble again, are you?”

Why was this his life? Peter didn’t even bother to fucking stand, since obviously it was part of his uncle’s overall life-plan to be as annoying as possible when he wasn’t scaring the shit out of everyone. But his uncle had never given a crap about the usual rules of Alpha etiquette to omegas—probably the reason he’d never mated.

Huge surprise, Jackson was outraged, which meant he wolfed out yet again. But at least this wasn’t Derek’s problem. Jackson was Peter’s second—his uncle could fucking deal with him.

“No offense intended, Jackson” his uncle said, shooting for maximum offense, and then to Derek’s horror added, “ORT? That’s the pee-wee activist group I’ve been hearing so much about?”

 _Aaaaand_ now it was Stiles’ turn to explode. “Pee-wee activists? Playgroup? Are you fucking serious?”

“Did I say something to offend? Oh dear, my apologies.”

Fuck, he hated Peter sometimes. It wasn’t like Peter didn’t know Derek was interested in courting Stiles.

“Not accepted,” Stiles snapped back. “And if you don’t like trouble, why don’t you try putting a leash on your attack dog there. It’s like he’s rabid.”

Derek’s fangs popped out before he could stop himself. He stared at Stiles, trying to figure out why the fuck his wolf was so interested in this omega, given he was a foul-mouthed brat, as well as being a horny little shit. He was _still_ pouring out mating pheromones.

“Where is McCall? I’m owed satisfaction,” Jackson demanded.

Thank you! At this rate, they’d be taking numbers to kick the shit out of Scott McCall.

Unfortunately, nothing in his life could prepare Derek for what followed. Erica Reyes got up in Whittemore’s face and… what?

No his ears were not deceiving him. An omega had just challenged Jackson Whittemore. Derek tensed. This was nothing like Stiles shooting his mouth off. The girl moved like a predator. Jackson tried to refuse, since he wasn’t completely insane, and then, and then…?

The omega actually punched poor Isaac Lahey, knocking him to the ground.

It took Derek an embarrassingly long time to recover from his utter incomprehension, and he might have just stood gaping as the omega and Jackson squared off, but some instinct warned him and his arm snapped out just in time to stop Stiles from throwing himself between the two of them. Next thing he knew, he had Stiles shoved up against a wall.

“What the fuck? Let me go!”

“Stiles, stop it. Keep back,” Derek ordered, succumbing to the instinct to press his entire body against the omega, replacing some of McCall’s scent with his own.

Peter, like the psycho he was, seemed more amused than worried that his second was brawling with an omega. He yelled at Peter to put a stop to it, and of course his uncle drawled out, “Do what exactly, Derek? She’s an omega—I can’t fight her.”

Hello! “And it’s a capital crime if he hurts her.”

Derek caught the whiff of poor Isaac’s terror as he tried to intervene, only to be ordered back by his mate. His heart truly went out to the omega, who seemed Moon-cursed to be the victim of his psychotic friends and mate.  

Before Derek could come up with a way to save Jackson, the room was shattered by the soul-rending scream of an omega in fear.

His claws and fangs dropped to defend Stiles and Jackson turned away from Erica to protect Isaac. He half expected to see a figure from his nightmares—Kate Argent holding Maman, claws to her neck. Instead a tiny red-haired omega strutted into the room, looking seriously pissed off.

Thank the moon, the omega’s arrival was enough to disrupt the fight. Isaac ran to his Alpha, the textbook picture of a loving mate—anchoring him, helping Jackson rein in his wolf. And Derek had to hand it to Jackson: he was totally focused on his omega, nipping at their mating bite. Derek couldn’t help but be moved by the obvious love between them—and maybe a little jealous. That their bond had stayed so strong over seven years was amazing—he almost wanted to say inspiring. He didn’t want Isaac, but he wanted what they had—that level of connection.

Meanwhile the red-haired omega was saying, “Honestly, I leave you three for fifteen minutes.”

Peter responded with his usual asshole sarcasm, “Let me guess, you’re also in the ORT.”

“Lydia Martin,” she said, moving right in front of him. “And you are Peter Hale. What happened? You couldn’t manage three high school omegas?” Derek almost choked, but he had to admit, the girl had extraordinary presence for an omega, reminding him of Maman.

Peter just laughed. “Don’t blame me. I knew the ORT was political, but I never dreamt our little local school was host to an extremist omega cell.”

“Ha fucking ha!” Stiles snorted.

“Still,” his uncle said, only now getting to his feet. “We are faced with a dilemma here. My protégée, Jackson, just attacked an omega. Now ordinarily by pack law that’s a capital offense, though arguably there were extenuating circumstances. After all, Miss Reyes here did attack his mate. But that still leaves the question of why Jackson was able to fight her at all.”

Stiles apparently found cessation of fighting to be too much tranquility for his taste, because his next words were, “It’s because he’s totally out of control. No different than seven years ago when he force-mated Isaac.” Clearly he wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d driven Jackson, and by extension Derek, out of their minds.

“With all due respect to Isaac’s many charms,” Peter smirked, apparently intent on helping Stiles in any way he could, “I don’t think that’s the reason.”

“She’s not an omega,” Jackson growled.

“Of course she is,” Stiles cried at the same moment Lydia snapped out, “Don’t be ridiculous.” Derek easily caught the lie in both their heartbeats, which made zero sense.

“Why would you say that, Jackson?” Peter asked, sounding way too casual. His eyes were glowing. Fuck! Of all the times for his uncle to go psycho, with four omegas in the room, not to mention an Alpha protecting his mate.

“She’s an omega!” Stiles insisted. “Just scent her.”

“I can scent her from where I’m standing,” Derek said, hoping to derail wherever this was going. “There’s no question she’s an omega.”

“I know what she smells like,” Jackson argued. “But there’s another scent underneath it. It’s pure Alpha.”

Apparently Stiles had done it—he’d broken Jackson. “That’s impossible,” Derek countered, turning on Erica.

“Jackson’s nose is the best I’ve encountered,” Peter put in, like he was actually giving the time of the day to this lunacy!

“Don’t look at me like that!” Erica cried. “No one ever said I’m not an omega.”

Peter turned to Lydia. “So you didn’t tell her?”

“Tell me what?” Erica demanded.

“Obviously, you two know,” Peter said. “Why don’t you enlighten the group.”

Derek caught the change in Stiles’ scent. That was real fear—for the first time since he’d met him. This wasn’t good. “It’s called a dual nature. Bi-dynamic,” Stiles said, all of his defiance gone. “It’s for people who are both omega and Alpha.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you say anything to me?” Erica said angrily.

“Tell her,” Peter hissed.

“They used to be put down,” Stiles said hoarsely. “In some places they still are.”

“What?” Derek cried.

“‘Put down’ meaning _killed_?” Isaac sounded horrified.

“Do you know why, Stiles?” Peter asked, smiling like a complete fucking psychopath.

Stiles swallowed but finally answered, “Because they can kill an omega.”

Derek didn’t think, he just threw himself between Peter and Erica. It drove his wolf mad to leave Stiles unprotected, but the human was still in charge, and his wolf could chill the fuck out. Rationally, Derek refused to believe Peter would hurt Stiles—or any omega. Even during the worst of it, in the months after Maman’s death when Peter had totally lost any anchor, he’d never gone that far. But Erica was a different story. Derek had no idea what to make of this bi-dynamic stuff, but the girl smelled like an omega, and she’d been raised as an omega. She was Stiles’ friend. He could not let her get hurt.

“And you, Miss Reyes?” Peter hissed. “Could you do it—could you kill an omega?”

“I wouldn’t,” the poor girl cried out.

“That is not what I asked.”

“I wouldn’t do it, but that Alpha thing you guys have, I don’t have that.” Derek forced down an instinctive nausea. It was a chilling confession, one he’d have to think long and hard about, but Jackson wasn’t growling; despite Erica’s attack on Isaac, he didn’t perceive her as a threat to his mate, which meant she wasn’t a threat, not to these omegas.

That left Peter, who was always a threat to everyone around him. And it was an unfortunate but indisputable fact that Derek didn’t have a prayer of stopping him—even with Jackson’s help. But he would do his best. Derek prayed that Jackson would have the sense to get the omegas the fuck out of the room, as he steeled himself to slow down his uncle.

Fuck this fucking mixer! Peter having an episode here would be the last straw for Laura. And could Derek even argue with it, even as his heart ached at the thought of losing yet another family member? But if his uncle lost it in a building full of omegas, his sister would have no choice but to put him down.

But then, in the strangest development yet, the petite redhead, Lydia, marched up to Peter and snapped her fingers in his face. “You are not harming Erica.”

And just like that it was over. Derek could feel it: for the first time in ages, he could almost see the old Peter, the hilarious uncle who taught them all about cool music and made the best fish tacos; who would do the Sunday puzzle in ten minutes while he watched _Meet the Press_ with Maman, teasing her mercilessly about her politics, never once revealing that she’d been the most important person in his life.

Peter turned his head to the side as if trying to make sense of what he was seeing, and then in that weird, abrupt way of his said, “I would never harm her.”

Lydia looked remarkably like Talia that time she’d confronted Peter about sneaking him and Laura out to a Metallica concert when Derek was thirteen. And his uncle put up his hands up in exactly the way he’d done that night: “Obviously, I want to recruit her.”

Derek choked. “To kill omegas?”

“Of course not,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. _Asshole_. “But she’d be deadly against Alphas. Even knowing what she really is, could you attack her?”

Derek took a deep breath, focusing on her scent. Just the idea was enough to turn his stomach. “No.”

“Exactly. Argent psychopathy aside, it’s extremely difficult for most Alphas to get over their instinct not to harm an omega, which is usually not a problem since most omegas won’t kill unless their mate or child is threatened. But the bi-dynamic have none of those annoying inhibitions. How did you figure it out?” Peter asked Stiles.

“There was a bunch of stuff that didn’t fit,” Stiles admitted. “I did some research. Lydia figured it out on her own. We agreed we wouldn’t tell anyone else, especially not after the stuff that happened in the war.”

“Good thinking,” Peter said, “I’m impressed.”

The whole room seemed to let out a sigh of relief. Fuck, that had been too close, but he’d not seen Peter this cheerful, this interested since before... everything.

Lydia Martin said, “Well now that we have that settled…” only to be interrupted by Stiles. “It is not settled! What about Isaac?”

Fucking A, did this omega want him to have a heart attack?

“Isaac?” Peter sounded curious.

“Hello! First your pet Alpha-hole there forces himself on an omega child, which totally torpedoed school integration by the way, condemning an entire generation of omegas to second class citizenship. And then he shows up here after seven years and just grabs Isaac like he’s friggin’ package at the post office. He has no right.”

And of course Jackson was roused again, moving towards Stiles before Derek could get between them: “I have every right. Isaac is my mate.”

Again it was Lydia who took control before Derek could even think, shutting down Stiles and Jackson. “Isaac. This has gone way too far. If you won’t tell Stiles I will.”

_Tell Stiles what?_


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place after the events of Chapters 5-6 of Mating Bite, and assumes knowledge of those events, i.e. the real story (Chapter 5) of what happened when Jackson bit Isaac when they were both eleven years old, Lydia and Peter (rather abruptly) getting engaged, and Lydia offering to help Derek court Stiles (both in chapter 6).

Derek practically stumbled as he exited the Alpha lounge, trying and failing to cope with the idea of the tiny red-haired omega announcing that she was going to mate his uncle. He seriously wasn’t sure who terrified him more, this Lydia girl or Peter. The idea of the two of them together, working in concert, was truly chilling. It was probably for the best since it had overshadowed the revelations about Isaac Lahey, which was one of the most disturbing stories Derek had ever heard.

In the end, he’d been forced to pull back, distance himself a little. He truly didn’t want to erase or minimize what had happened to Isaac, but Derek’s temper, not exactly good on his best day, was frayed enough, and it wasn’t like he could go out and kill that Alpha bastard Lahey again.

He’d misjudged Jackson. The guy was still a douche, but Moon: mating the kid like that when he was eleven, and then taking out a full-grown Alpha? Derek wondered what he would have done in the same place, but not that. Not with Talia or Laura, even Peter, to go to for help.

He remembered something he’d overheard Talia say right after the mating, when Maman was complaining about the Whittemores: that though people would always believe that Jackson had rescued Isaac, in the long run, it would prove to be the opposite—the omega had saved the Alpha.

At the time he’d viewed it as one of those annoying, enigmatic things Talia was always saying, but now that he knew the truth, it was even more paradoxical because Jackson really had rescued Isaac. And yet Talia’d had a wisdom about Alphas and mating so she must have sensed something.

And when he thought about it now, to manage a mating bite, Jackson had to have been capable of a full shift—at age eleven—which was just crazy. That level of Alpha power was extremely hard to keep balanced—just look at Peter. But having mated like that, Jackson would have an anchor, more than an anchor, he’d have a _purpose_ , someone who was depending on him, who’d be defenseless if he were killed. There was nothing more powerful than that for an Alpha—which was why the Argents had targeted the pack’s omega.

Moon, if Peter mated…. Would that mean that they could stop worrying every minute of the day that he would destroy himself? Derek had been terrified for his uncle for so long, he almost couldn’t imagine it. They’d all given up hope ages ago. By rights he should be terrified for the poor omega who accepted Peter’s bite, but every instinct he possessed told him that Lydia Martin was more than strong enough to handle his uncle.

Not only Peter. The ORT’s top strategist had also informed him that she was assuming responsibility for Derek’s courtship. Derek couldn’t decide if that inspired hope or horror. Mated by graduation—that had to be a joke, right? Derek couldn’t make sense of it—had they all been in the same room? Stiles obviously felt nothing but hostility towards his suit. And yet Lydia had sounded so sure of herself.

And Derek had to admit he’d clearly been missing more than a few clues, since he’d seen nothing to suggest an interest between Lydia and Peter. They’d never met before, and they’d hardly exchanged three sentences. And yet Peter hadn’t acted at all surprised when she practically propositioned him. A seventeen-year-old omega.  

Were they all telepaths or something?

Damn it, this is why they had courtships!

Then again, Scott McCall had been trying to help him with Stiles, and Scott’s mind-reading abilities were as nonexistent as Derek’s. At the very least he could feel grateful that he would not be getting any more relationship advice from Scott fucking McCall.

Derek hadn’t consciously meant to follow Stiles outside, but somehow he found himself in the parking lot. He quickly spotted Stiles, who was pacing at the far end—no where near the street lamp or the building, and what was worse, completely alone.

_In a dark parking lot!_

Hadn’t he walked out with Erica Reyes? Not that Derek was entirely comfortable with the idea of Stiles hanging out with her, but at least she could offer him some protection. More than some—the omega had held her own against Jackson. With some training, she would quickly become one of the most powerful fighters in the pack, even without the advantages of being bi-dynamic. They were lucky to have her given the challenges they were still facing from opportunistic packs hoping to finish what the Argents had started.  

Unfortunately, that thought just made his anger blaze at Stiles again. Why did omegas insist on doing this? And Derek had a feeling Stiles was the worst—the most stubborn about protecting himself, ignoring any damage to his reputation or any risks he took. Before Derek could stop himself, he demanded, “Why are you out here without a chaperone?”

“Dude, what the fuck? I thought the Hales were supposed to be all into omega rights—or was that just bullshit?”

“What are you talking about?” Derek was gobsmacked. “Of course it’s not bullshit.”

“Then what’s this chaperone bullshit? I’m eighteen fucking years old.”

“It’s to protect you, make sure you’re safe. To show you respect!”

“Well how about instead of respect it shows you think that I’m a child, that I’m not competent to be independent—another way of making sure omegas are locked into the den, barefoot and pregnant.”

“That’s absurd,” Derek snarled before he could stop himself. “I’m showing you respect!”

“I’m showing you respect,” Stiles mimicked. “You’re impossible! What’s the fucking point of even arguing with an Alpha?”

Derek froze. It still happened every now and then: some random word or scent would trigger him and suddenly he’d be overwhelmed with a memory of Maman.

This was not a memory he’d willingly have sought out—Maman furious at him when he’d insisted on following her. Derek, _enfant imposseebluh_. _Alpha nonsense. You do not listen to me. How is this respect?_ The way her hands moved when she was angry.

And he’d just stood there, stony, refusing to give an inch or even apologize, dismissing her words; he’d not called them omega nonsense, but he’d thought something close—omega stubbornness, omega naïveté, a blindness to the dangers out there.

It was wrong to say he didn’t respect her—if anything he’d worshipped her. She was a brilliant lawyer, one of a tiny number of omegas who’d managed to go to law school, and she’d fought tirelessly for omega rights. He’d never wanted her to feel trapped. He’d just wanted her to be safe. But even now the complaint felt like a petulant excuse. He’d treated her like a child, made her angry, and he still hadn’t kept her safe. They’d all failed her and the loss had almost destroyed the pack.  

“Dude…. Derek, you okay, man?”

Derek snapped out of his reverie, mortified. “Sorry,” he muttered, trying to turn away. What a joke. First he insults Stiles and then he ignores him.

“You don’t need to be sorry—I shouldn’t have…. Look, it’s kind of a touchy issue and mostly it’s not your fault. Sorry I lost it on you like that. It was uncool.”

“It just reminded me of someone—my mother. She said almost the same thing to me.” Derek had no idea how or why those words vomited out of him. What kind of Alpha was he to impose personal stuff on an omega like that?

But instead of looking distressed or disgusted, Stiles’ expressive face if anything became even more animated. “Your mom—you mean Marianne Hale?” Derek made a tiny nod. “Boy, today is like my day for putting my foot in it,” Stiles said with a dramatic wave of his hand. “Marianne Hale is my hero. Like, she was the inspiration for the whole idea for the ORT. She really did it—got into law school, took the fight to the Alpha man. She changed things.”

Derek felt the old pride mixing with an anguish which never seemed to heal, as if just this brief exchange could wipe out four years he’d spent crawling his way back to something resembling sanity. He should say something—none of this was Stiles’ fault, and he could feel how much Maman would mean to the kid who’d founded the ORT when he was still in fucking middle school.

He felt a gentle hand on his arm and couldn’t help staring at it—he’d never in his life imagined an omega taking that kind of liberty with an Alpha he didn’t know. Stiles whipped his hand back and swallowed nervously. “Look I shouldn’t say this, cause I fucking hate when people say this to me about my mom… But I can’t not say it. So here goes, I am so fucking sorry for what happened. I mean, I still got my dad….” He trailed off, his voice cracking. “Just, I am truly sorry for your loss.” Stiles wiped his eyes. “Fuck, way to totally fulfill the stereotype of the weepy omega,” he muttered to himself. “Seriously, talk about the Laurentian abyss of uncool, Stiles. Where the fuck are you, Scott? Will you please show up before I dig myself any deeper here.”

Derek was distracted from his grief by the bitterness of Stiles’ little monologue. It felt like a window into the kid’s nature, but he didn’t know how to interpret what he was seeing. It really sounded like Stiles hated himself for what he’d just said, which made no sense. Derek wanted it to stop, now, and before he could stop himself, snapped, “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing, long day. Look, do you wanna, like, have coffee or something?”

“With you?” Derek blurted, unable to track this kid's shifts.

“No, with the president! Yeah with me.”

“Sorry,” he fumbled. “It’s just that you really didn’t seem to like me.”

“Believe it or not, you’re not the first person I’ve ever met to say that within, say, five minutes of meeting me. First impressions, not exactly my fort, or forté, or however it’s supposed to be pronounced.”  

“For,” Derek said automatically.

“Come again?”

“In French, the noun ‘ _fort’_ would be pronounced ‘for.’ _Forte_ is the feminine of the adjective _fort_. It means ‘strong.’”

“No kidding.” Stiles seemed genuinely interested. Then he smiled and gave a sort of admiring look at Derek’s arms. “I guess you’d know something about that.” His face was burning red, but he made a goofy grin, like a kid who’d gotten caught sneaking a cookie before dinner and was hoping to charm his parent out of getting angry. As flirtation went, it was the polar opposite of smooth, but it was real, and Derek couldn’t help feeling a little Alpha pride that the single most desirable omega he’d ever encountered admired him at least a little.

“So what do you say? Coffee?” Derek took a breath to object that they would need a chaperone, but Stiles must have caught it because he snapped out, “I swear if you ever say the word ‘chaperone’ to me, I will kidnap you and drag you to my house where I’ll force you to spend twelve straight hours watching reruns of _Teen Alpha_.”

“ _Teen Alpha_?” Derek tried to make sense of this bizarre threat, especially since Stiles sounded totally serious.

“Don’t even pretend you’ve not seen it,” Stiles retorted. “Because I will not believe you, and you should know right now that if you persist in claiming that, I will have no choice but to carry out my threat, which I swear to the Moon is 100% serious, so unless you’re eager for twelve hours of watching Colton, Tyler, Miguel, and Crystal posture and exchange challenges in between rescuing Dilly, then I strongly recommend you opt for coffee—without a chaperone.”

Derek was almost positive that Stiles had not taken a breath during that speech which contained more words than Derek uttered in a typical day. He was briefly perplexed by the whole problem represented by _Teen Alpha_. He almost never watched television but Cora was a complete addict and he was sure he’d caught a few episodes of the show. He seemed to recall that the main omega character, Dilly, was always sneaking out of his house and then getting into some kind of ridiculous scrape where he’d have to be rescued by a growly (and conspicuously buff) Alpha, Miguel, who was notorious for always wearing a tank-top.

“So what’s it going to be—coffee or sadistic torture by means of _Teen Alpha_?”

“Fine, fine. Coffee.”

“In a coffee shop,” Stiles added.

“In a coffee shop.”

“Was that so hard?”

Derek couldn’t help laughing. This kid was seriously weird. “Hard enough. Will you freak out if I give you my card?” he said, pulling out his case.

“So long as you give it to me and not to Scott or my dad,” Stiles said, meeting his eye with a directness that unnerved Derek.  

And somehow at that moment Derek understood. He understood what Scott had been trying to communicate to him, understood who he was dealing with. Not an omega. _Stiles_.

And he understood with a certainty that was like waking from a four year coma that Stiles would be his mate.


End file.
